The Wandering Jew — Complete eBook

“But I recognize you,” said Faringhea;
“I saw you at Cardoville Castle the day that
a ship and a steamer were wrecked together.”

“At Cardoville Castle? It is very possible,
sir. I was there when a shipwreck took place.”

“And that day I called you by your name, and
you asked me what I wanted. I replied: ‘Nothing
now, brother—­hereafter, much.’
The time has arrived. I have come to ask for
much.”

“My dear sir,” said Rodin, still impassible,
“before we continue this conversation, which
appears hitherto tolerably obscure, I must repeat my
wish to be informed to whom I have the advantage of
speaking. You have introduced yourself here under
pretext of a commission from Mynheer Joshua Van Dael,
a respectable merchant of Batavia, and—­”

“Look!” The half-caste drew from his pocket
(he was shabbily dressed in European clothes) a long
dispatch, which he had taken from one Mahal the Smuggler,
after strangling him on the beach near Batavia.
These papers he placed before Rodin’s eyes,
but without quitting his hold of them.

“It is, indeed, M. Van Dael’s writing,”
said Rodin, and he stretched out his hard towards
the letter, which Faringhea quickly and prudently
returned to his pocket.

“Allow me to observe, my dear sir, that you
have a singular manner of executing a commission,”
said Rodin. “This letter, being to my address,
and having been entrusted to you by M. Van Dael, you
ought—­”

“This letter was not entrusted to me by M. Van
Dael,” said Faringhea, interrupting Rodin.

“How, then, is it in your possession?”

“A Javanese smuggler betrayed me. Van Dael
had secured a passage to Alexandria for this man,
and had given him this letter to carry with him for
the European mail. I strangled the smuggler, took
the letter, made the passage—­and here I
am.”

The Thug had pronounced these words with an air of
savage boasting; his wild, intrepid glance did not
quail before the piercing look of Rodin, who, at this
strange confession, had hastily raised his head to
observe the speaker.

Faringhea thought to astonish or intimidate Rodin
by these ferocious words; but, to his great surprise,
the socius, impassible as a corpse, said to him, quite
simply: “Oh! they strangle people in Java?”

“Yes, there and elsewhere,” answered Faringhea,
with a bitter smile.

“I would prefer to disbelieve you; but I am
surprised at your sincerity M.—­, what is
your name?”

“Faringhea.”

“Well, then, M. Faringhea, what do you wish
to come to? You have obtained by an abominable
crime, a letter addressed to me, and now you hesitate
to deliver it.”

“Because I have read it, and it may be useful
to me.”

“Oh! you have read it?” said Rodin, disconcerted
for a moment. Then he resumed: “It
is true, that judging by your mode of possessing yourself
of other people’s correspondence, we cannot
expect any great amount of honesty on your part.
And pray what have you found so useful to you in this
letter?”